Memories
by Passion Berry
Summary: Now that Elena is a vampire she is remembering things that had previously been wiped from her memory. She goes to confront Damon about it. One Shot.


Damon hears her come in. She's quieter now; her recent descent into vampirism giving her steps a more graceful, predatory glide. But he still hears her. It would take a lot more than her dying for him not to know when she steps into a room.

He's sitting in a chair, in front of a fire that blazes in the fireplace, holding a glass to his forehead. It's contents consist of lightly sipped bourbon. He hears it swish as he sets it on the small table next to him. He hadn't had much a taste for it this evening, but it was something familiar that he seemed to go back to every time something didn't exactly pan out.

She's only a few steps behind him now.

A few days ago he would have heard her heartbeat. It would pick up the closer she got to him, giving her away. Now he could only count her nearly silent steps. It would take some getting used to.

She didn't say anything, and for a while he didn't either. He merely stared at the fire, contemplating on whether to hurl his glass into it. He decided against it. His supply of tumblers was already dwindling.

"I expected you sooner," he finally says, just to say something. "Though it's not unlike you to keep me waiting…" she's deathly still and for once he can't hear her. And that doesn't sit well with him. This would _definitely_ take some getting used to.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks. Her voice is soft, like a whisper of betrayal. Like he betrayed her.

He knows what she is talking about but he isn't going to give it up that easily. That's just not how he rolls. "Didn't know you were going to die, Elena," he mutters instead. "Would've stopped it if I did. Unlike my asinine brother."

"He only did what I asked," she's in front of him now, taking a seat on the couch. "It's why I love him."

Something inside of Damon snaps. It's not because she loves Stefan. It's been made _perfectly_ clear that she loves Stefan. And it's not that he has to keep hearing it. It's that she's defending Stefan _in this_. "Because he killed you?" he raises his eyebrows, leaning forward. "Because that's what he did, Elena. He _killed you_."

"He didn't-"

"He might as well have! He could have saved you, Elena! But he didn't. And now you're dead, because of him."

Elena doesn't answer right away and he's glad. Maybe she's seeing sense in his words. Maybe she's understanding what exactly Stefan let her give up. But more likely she's just biding her time, waiting for him to simmer down. This new Elena has forever to wait.

"I know you don't understand this," she says. "But I have to make my own choices. Good or bad… It's my life,"

"Was." He hisses it before he can stop himself. "You're dead now, Elena. Get used to it." this hurts her. He can see it in her eyes. But sometimes the truth hurts.

He can see the moment she steels her spine, and hardens her resolve. She'd come here for a reason. And this wasn't it. "I've been getting memories back that I didn't know I had," she says, "Memories that you took from me, Damon," he isn't looking at her. He isn't looking at anything. "Why did you do it?" she demands. "Why did you take what was mine from me? You had no right."

"I had every damn right," he says, glancing at her. "Those memories are mine, too. We share them. And being that you wouldn't have had them in the first place if I hadn't initiated them then I believe I had every right to take them. Don't look at me like that," she is angry. Her mouth is in a straight line, her arms are crossed, and he can see red forming on her cheeks. She must have fed recently for color to show like that. "It's not like you missed them, anyway."

"That's not for you to decide,"

"Maybe not. But you have them back now. So what's all the fuss about?"

"I want to know why you took them from me." he scrunches his eyebrows in annoyance but she must take it as confusion for she feels the need to elaborate, "If it's not a big deal, Damon, then why did you take them from me?"

He never would have described her eyes as piercing before. Big yes, steady yes, considering yes. Never piercing. But now her brown eyes seemed to pierce right through him, stabbing him in the soul and staking him to the chair.

"Ah, hell, Elena. I don't know." he feels frustrated by this conversation. He wasn't ever supposed to have to have it. She was never supposed to die.

Elena studies him a few moments before she speaks again. And when she does she says, "You love me,"

"That's been established," he mutters bitterly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"…but you also love your brother. That's why you did it."

"If you already have this figured out for yourself then why are you here?" he reaches for the tumbler next to him but stops when she says,

"Why didn't you tell me?" her voice is a whisper at first but she quickly gains confidence. "Why didn't you tell me we met first? I might have-"

"Might have what, Elena?" he asks, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "It wouldn't have changed anything, would it?"

"Damon-"

"Would it?" she looks away shamefully for a few seconds before her eyes return to his. They are watery.

"No."

Damon leans back, accepting that for what it is. She'd already made her choice. He hadn't expected her to change her mind just because she remembered a few things. It still hurt though. It would never stop hurting.

"You have your answer." he says half-heartedly. She can't tell though. He can tell she is too busy fighting tears to see his own inner turmoil. She stands and starts to walk away. He plans to count her steps on the way out as he did when she came in - she hasn't yet learned the art of vampire speed - but he finds himself speaking instead. He doesn't know why. It won't change anything. It's been made apparent that anything he says won't ever change anything, but he says it anyway.

"I wanted to try to win your love fairly," he speaks louder than he has to. She would have heard a whisper, but he speaks to her as though she is still human. "Not because I met you first." he knows she heard him but she doesn't say anything. He wants to turn around and look at her but he doesn't. "How corny is that?" his voice croaks. A few seconds later he hears the front door close.

He stands to his feet, grabbing the tumbler glass with his anxious hands. He takes a sip of its alcoholic contents but it doesn't satisfy. It leaves a hollow taste in his mouth. Or maybe that was the ghostly trail of his words as they had passed his lips…

_Screw it. _He hurls the glass into the fire. It roars angrily. Damon echoes it.

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_AN: Review please...? :)_


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